


It’s a Mental Breakdown

by the_link_dock



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Bruce Needs a Hug, Co-Dependency, Depression, Hurt No Comfort, Insanity, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mentions of Suicide, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Jerome, Sad Bruce, Stockholm Syndrome, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, possessive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 07:16:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20422067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_link_dock/pseuds/the_link_dock





	It’s a Mental Breakdown

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. 

That’s all that ran through Bruce Wayne’s mind as he ran up the concrete stairs of the decaying apartment building, being chased by Jerome’s cult. 

His legs burned as he took the steps two at a time. His footsteps echoed around him as his heart heated in his ear. His breathing was ragged but he pushed on, only stopping when he ran into the door leading to the roof of the building. 

He pushed it forward with a creak and stumbled as it flew open and rebounded off the wall. He jerked it shut and briefly looked for something heavy or large to block it with. When he saw nothing usable, he ran away from the rusted door, looking for a fire-escape to get down with. 

He saw none and the door burst open. In a fit of desperation, his eyes scanned the top of the building with an edge of wildness for any possible escape, not noticing his breaths getting heavier and quicker. He saw a building next to the apartment and heard the crowd charging towards him. He was out of ideas and time. 

He took off before he realised he had started to move. He pumped his arms as his legs carried him to the edge. He forced the cultists’ yelling out of his mind and he let out one of his own, putting all of his anger, despair, tiredness, sorrow, and desperation into it as he leapt off. 

For a second, he was free. For a second the cultists were gone. The wind rushed past him, ruffling his hair and blocking all other noise. His thigh muscles burned at the stretch. His arms were outstretched and he felt like he was flying. He wasn’t worried about what was behind him or below him. He didn’t even care if he would make the jump. For a second he wasn’t worried that alfred may be dead, or that Jerome was trying to kidnap and/or kill him again. For a second, Bruce Wayne was lighthearted and carefree. And then he crashed. 

Barely missing the brick border around the roof, Bruce was thrown foreword. Somehow his feet made it over and crashed onto his legs, somersaulting a few feet before stopping on his back, laid out and gasping for breath as he put a hand on his stomach. He tilted his head back to try and see the deranged savages leaning over the edge to go after him, but none brave enough to try. Or maybe they had and hadn’t made it, either way, Bruce was alone. Their painted smiles looked distorted through their bouts of angry shouts. 

Bruce‘s eyes fluttered shut as a breathless—and slightly hysterical—laugh made its way past his lips. He bent a leg for no reason other than he could. It wasn’t guaranteed that he was safe, but he’d gotten away. The yelling faded from his mind to where all he could hear was the vigorous beating of his heart and the breath spilling from his lips in rapid pants, which stopped when he closed his mouth to swallow. 

Just as his body was ready to calm down, he heard a noise. It made his stomach freeze and his whole body tense and his eyes fly open. He was not safe. He had to get away from that noise—that laugh. That laugh that haunted his nightmares, that haunted his every fibre and invested itself into his subconscious. 

He took a moment—only a moment—to process all of this as he stared into the grey abyss known as gotham’s sky before he turned his head to the source of the sound. 

Terror grew inside of him. The kind you get walking home alone through a dangerous part of town. The kind you get during a horror movie when your favourite character gets killed. The kind you get when your mom never comes home, when your dad leaves forever, when you’re walking with your parents through a dark alley way and a gunman stops you. 

Sadistic eyes stared at him. A matching, scarred smile greeted his eyes and Bruce’s body finally jerked into action. Though Jerome looked calm and comfortable from his spot in to shadows of the AC unit of the roof, Bruce was not going to be a sitting duck. 

When he was standing on shaking legs with his fists poised read for a fight, he noticed Jerome had not moved. With his chest heaving, Bruce took a quick glance behind him and only saw the maniacs on the other building, they had gone silent. They were watching the show with rapt interest, waiting to see their god kill Bruce Wayne. It was unnerving to say the least. 

When he turned back, Jerome had moved. The older man was walking calmly towards him and Bruce’s pulse skyrocketed. He cursed himself for turning his back on the ginger maniac. He stumbled backwards and tried to keep his eyes trained on Jerome but looked back periodically to make sure he didn’t trip. 

“Stop.” Bruce hadn’t realised he spoke until Jerome stopped, tilting his head. Bruce’s voice was hardly a whisper and the helpless break made Jerome confused. 

He’d never heard Bruce sound like that before. Was the kid really scared? That brought joy to Jerome. Especially since he caused it. Caused the prince of Gotham, the rich boy who was always so fearless and proud, to sound so scared and lost. In that moment, Bruce Wayne wasn’t a CEO, or a billionaire. He was a kid. 

Jerome grinned when he saw Bruce’s confusion before panic took over as his lower back reached the wall surrounding the roof. Bruce’s eyes were so wide jerome thought they’d bug out of his skull. 

Bruce glanced behind him and saw how far the drop was. If he died, it’d be quick. If he didn’t, he still would’ve escaped jerome. With a flashback to the carnival, Bruce knew there was no contest. 

Bruce jerked his body quickly and braced his hands on the mini wall as he heaved himself up. He got one of his legs on it before arms encircled him, trapping his limbs to his torso as he was dragged away from the edge, from his escape. 

He kicked his legs when he noticed they didn’t reach the ground. He tried to wiggle his way out, leaning forward and to each side. His teeth were clenched, as were his fists, and he grunted with the force he used trying to get free. He felt like a caged animal. 

The arms holding him were locked together by the hands clasped against his stomach. Bruce bent his arms to try and pry them off, but the angle left little strength he could use against them. He shouted in rage and squeezed his eyes shut as he blindly panicked, doing everything he could to be released. 

He didn’t see the cultists watch in shock as saviour Bruce Wayne had a mental break down. He didn’t see their wide eyes or open mouths at his animalistic survival instincts. Nor did he see the manic gleam in Jerome’s eye as he held on to Bruce and dragged him away from suicide. 

“Let—go—“ Bruce’s voice cracked when he finally spoke. He arched his back as a way to pry open the hands. Although the only person who could possibly be holding him was Jerome, Bruce kept his eyes shut to prevent it from being reality. Sure, it was nearly impossible, but with his eyes closed, it could be Jim Gordon behind him, keeping him from jumping. 

Maybe it was Jim behind him. or Alfred. Maybe this was a dream. Or a nightmare. Maybe Jerome hadn’t been on the roof at all. Maybe Bruce hadn’t been chased at all. Maybe he wasn’t even on a roof—maybe he was at Wayne Manor with his parents. Weren’t his parents dead? He couldn’t remember. Where was he? Who was holding him? What was going on?

Bruce kept squirming but opened his eyes to see the slightly blurry scenery. He tilted his head up and back to see—yes, it had been Jerome holding him. He had stopped walking now that they were safely in the middle. 

Jerome wasn’t expecting Bruce to look at him. Nor was he expecting the deranged eyes that stared at him. They held the same insanity he and his followers had, Bruce’s eyes were so wide you could see the whites surrounding the irises. The red head didn’t expect to see that look of pure insanity on Bruce, at least not until he’d broken the boy, oh but it was beautiful. 

Then Bruce tilted his head back and laughed. It was eerie and hysterical. Jerome raised an furrowed eyebrow and glanced at his followers to see them dumbly staring at the breakdown of Bruce Wayne. 

Speaking of the billionaire, he was still laughing. Bruce’s voice was raw and his shoulders shook with the forces of it and Jerome slowly set him on his feet, cautiously releasing him when Bruce looked like he’d stand on his own, but the ginger was ready if Bruce tried to jump again. 

This didn’t stop the laughter, as Jerome thought it would. The laughter didn’t increase either so, that was a plus—maybe. Instead, Bruce keeled over slightly and held his stomach, the same way you would when you couldn’t stop laughing after a funny joke or story. 

Then Bruce’s hands were pulling on his dark hair as the laughter started to turn into sobs. He straightened up so much he started bending backwards as he giggled brokenly to the sky. 

Jerome pursed his lips and rested an elbow on a thick pipe, deciding to let the kid have his breakdown, even if it was getting old. Not to the cultists apparently, as they continued to watch Bruce’s hysterics with morbid fascination. 

Bruce’s mind was a whirlwind. What was real? He’d almost jumped off a building. His arch enemy saved his life, even though said enemy had tried to end it multiple times. That was funny. Oh god, that was comedy gold. Maybe that’s why Jerome’s always laughing. 

Bruce turned to Jerome giggling with a wild grin on his face, “I understand EVERYTHING .” He hissed the last part. Then he was laughing again. 

Death was funny. Suicide was funnier. Especially when it’s by a rich brat with no parents living in a city where at least half the population wanted him dead! Especially when he tries to do the job himself. 

Maybe Jerome was angry that Bruce tried to do his job for him. That was funny. Hell, that was hysterical!

Eventually his chest started heaving with the force of his melt down and his voice grew hoarse enough to make his eye twitch for a moment and his body shook every few seconds with tremors. His head was tilted sideways as he stared at a spot on the ground with a watery smile. 

Footsteps made him look towards Jerome, who’s had enough of just walking. He practically marched over to Bruce, only stopping when he was directly in front of the younger. 

Bruce let out a last laugh and gave Jerome a smile that was so purely happy, it caught the older off guard. It was the kind of smiles you’d see on a kid—and only on birthdays or christmas. Jerome hadn’t seen the smile on any adult, let alone Gotham’s number one brood, Bruce Wayne (although he wasn’t an adult). 

Before he could process what was happening, Bruce’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he fell forward. Jerome caught him under the arms and pulled him to lean against his chest. 

Bruce’s head drooped and his cheek was pressed against Jerome’s middle. With a hand on either side of Bruce’s chest, Jerome could feel his heart rate calm down and his breathing start to even out. 

Jerome looked to his followers and rolled his eyes before angrily barking orders, “What are you standing around for!? Show’s over! Load up the vans, the trucks and the buses! We’re goin’ home!” He finished his tirade with bellowing laughter, spurring the others into celebration and yelling. The left as a group and Jerome looked down at Bruce with a cruel grin. 

Little Brucie had been ready to kill himself to escape Jerome. That brought sick satisfaction to him. Jerome wanted that again—but not for Bruce to get away from him, oh no. He wanted Bruce to be so dependent upon him, if Jerome left him he’d kill himself. The red head wanted the young billionaire to be so scared and helpless and infatuated with him that if anything were to happen to Jerome, he’d kill himself. That’d be hilarious.


End file.
